


always knew there was a war out there

by mayfieldmayhem



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Bad Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, CSA, Canonical Child Abuse, F/F, Fainting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 20:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayfieldmayhem/pseuds/mayfieldmayhem
Summary: beverly marsh & the people around her.





	always knew there was a war out there

**Author's Note:**

> VERY heavy tw for vague implications of sexual abuse and graphic descriptions of aftermath!!! if that is something that will upset you please do not read this!! there's also a tw for physical abuse, described in the aftermath but still with illusions made to the abuse happening  
> uhhh vague au where pennywise doesn't exist because as if these kids need that w/what they're dealing with  
> also I am writing this as a csa survivor just for reference  
> please tread carefully!!

♡ i. the first ♡  


beverly anne marsh learns that monsters are real and they’re not just hiding under her bed or lurking in her closet when she’s five years old. beverly anne marsh learns that monsters come in the form of people meant to protect you. beverly anne marsh learns that monsters have human names. beverly anne marsh learns that some fathers love their daughters more than they should and no one steps in.

she can’t remember exactly what happened but she remembers the great and terrible after.

when you’re five years old you should not hear your bedroom door creak open slowly in the night. when you’re five years old, you should not sit up when your dad sits on the end of the bed and pats the spot next to him for you to sit. when you’re five years old, an adult man’s hand, your father no less, should not be tucked into the inside of your thigh.

she’d never felt unsafe in her own home before it started happening. she didn’t feel the need to somehow find a way to lock her bedroom door, because it doesn’t lock on its own and she wants to keep him out. she had never wanted to sleep in the bathtub...if only for the sake of the locking door.  


“just our secret bevvie, you understand, don’t you?” he murmurs and runs a hand through her hair.  


she shudders, breath rattling around in her chest and throat. her skin burns where he touches her, like he has hands of fire. “yes daddy, just our secret, won’t tell anyone,” she whispers.

he always smiles and calls her a good girl, tells her that he’s going to have to keep the boys away from her. he tells her she’s just like her mother, and it leaves a bitter taste in beverly’s mouth. “such a good listener, bevvie. i’m raising you into a fine young lady. so delicate and pretty and i’m sure i’m not the only one that knows it.” his words leave her stomach in knots for reasons she didn’t yet understand.

“i remember my manners,” she forces out, twisting her hands restlessly in the sheets, “i remember and i’m a good girl.”

when he kisses her she wants to puke.

-

♡ ii. the second ♡

beverly is seven and she finds herself in a private corner either in the cafeteria or outside more often than not because kids don’t sit with her and she doesn’t really want them to. she’s that weird marsh girl, one of the only redheads in her class. she wears clothes that are slightly too big for her and she never looks like she’s warm enough (she wears layers every day and still she is shivering). she must come off as intimidating even at seven, because sometimes kids dare their friends to approach and attempt to speak with her.

(it hurts more than she’d ever admit that they’re scared of her but the more distance the better.)

sometimes, though, she’ll find herself staring at groups of girls, with their pretty new clothes and hair clips, tossing their heads back and laughing at whatever their friend had said. she watches them and can’t help but think to herself that she wants that.

sure, she gets invited to the occasional sleepover or birthday party, but it’s not like she remains actual friends with the people at those events. it’s pretty much always a one-time thing. it doesn’t matter what she wants.

even worse is when she sees a nice-looking teacher and she wants to spill everything. her dad, the girls, all of the things that she wants but is not meant to have.  
somehow she keeps her mouth shut.

it’s their secret - no one else needs to know.

beverly anne marsh learns the cost of living a lie.

-

♡ iii. the third ♡

when beverly is eight she finds herself drifting closer and closer to richard tozier. she can’t explain it, but there’s something about him that’s drawing her in. she has this feeling in her chest that they’re more similar than they know and it’s the first time she’s ever felt like that so of course she is drawn.

“...hello,” she murmurs when he sits beside her at recess, “my name is beverly, uh, marsh. what’s yours?”

“richard - i mean, richie tozier.”

he smiles at her. his leg is bouncing and his glasses are crooked, the bridge fixed with what looks like tape. he is incredibly thin and there’s fading bruises on his arms. her heart hums when she sees them, because they’re familiar in a way she doesn’t understand, so she just rolls up her sweater sleeve to show him her own in a moment of vulnerability. “we match.”

he blinks, mouth opening and closing. his eyes flit from her arms to her eyes. just when her smile starts to fall and her hand twitches over her sleeve, he takes one of her hands gently. she knows how confused she must look, with her narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. “that we do, miss marsh,” he says, and his grin is maybe brighter than anything she’s ever seen before.

he threads his fingers through hers and at that moment she knows that they’re going to be best friends. it’s a welcome feeling.

-

♡ iv. the fourth ♡

when beverly and richie are ten it becomes an unspoken thing that he left his window cracked for her if she needed somewhere to go when her home life was too much even though his wasn’t much better. beverly would love to return the favor but she doesn’t want to think about what would happen to her if her father caught him in her room. she didn’t even want to think about what would happen to _richie._

“bev?” he’s whispering dazedly when she stumbles through his window at roughly eleven p.m. when her eyes finally adjust she sees richie rubbing his eyes and yawning widely.

she’s wheezing like she’s run a marathon and immediately he sobers up. “c’mon and sit down so you can catch your breath. why - bev, why were - why were you running?”

she stills and folds her lip between her teeth, the sharp prick of tears in her eyes when she raises her head. she waits for him to push himself up in bed because she can’t say anything. when his own eyes adjust to the darkness of his bedroom he feels like all of the breath has left his lungs. (this is not a new feeling but it is nonetheless shocking.) he finally takes in the sight of a heavily breathing and shaking beverly marsh - he feels his lower lip tremble - and he notices the tear in her tank top, and to his horror he notices the lack of pants.

beverly apparently ran all the way here in her underwear, in the middle of the night, and richie doesn’t want to think about what happened to chase her out of that house. she has a bloody nose and scraped-up knees. there’s bruises on her shoulders and around her wrists but most jarring are the ones that trail from her inner thighs, shaped suspiciously like hand prints and then there’s the blood that’s between her thighs, and it’s all richie can do not to start screaming. she stumbles towards him, as if her legs are going to give out, and when her knees buckle he’s out of bed in a second and he catches her. she twists her fists in his sleep shirt so tight her knuckles turn white and she sobs, loud and ugly and shaking.

“beverly,” he whispers shakily, wrapping thin arms around her but leaving room if she wants out of his embrace.

she shakes her head and folds her legs underneath her, biting her lip so hard that she draws blood, squeezing her eyes shut so tight that there’s lights behind her eyelids. she presses her face into his shoulder, and richie can feel her tears soaking into his shirt, but he couldn’t give less of a shit about that. what he cares about most right now is comforting his best friend, his best friend that is shaking and crying and bloody, his best friend that is bruised in places she shouldn’t be. what he cares most about right now is making her feel safe.

eventually she slumps against him, hysterical sobs dying down to weak little whimpers and her grip softening on his shirt.  


“i was, i was trying to sleep. i heard the door open. i just wanted to sleep and he sat at the end of my bed and told me to wake up, and he - “ she chokes, letting out a heavy breath.

“you don’t have to tell me,” richie murmurs into her hair. he’s rubbing gentle circles into her skin as she heaves. she shoves at him weakly and he lets go immediately, then getting a good look at her strained face he quickly grabs an empty cup he’d used for water. she is gagging and then she is puking more violently than he expected.

when she’s done, she breathes, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand with a grimace. richie doesn’t attempt to pull her to him again - he knows well enough that if she wants him to, she’ll make her way to him. he’s learned enough from being around her, learned enough how to help and when to back off.

“stay right there, i’m gonna get something,” he whispers. he stands and turns too fast so that he almost slams his thigh into the post at the end of his bed. he sucks in a sharp breath and wills his heart to slow down. he stumbles over to his dresser, pulling out an oversized sweater and some comfy pants for beverly to borrow because he can’t imagine she wants to sit there and feel so exposed after what happened (he doesn’t want to think about that). he presents them to her with a sympathetic smile, his eyes soft and his eyes shining.

she takes them with shaking hands and presses them to her face, breathing in the scent of smoke and taking in the softness. when she sets them in her lap her breath hitches and she turns desperate eyes to richie. “i can’t - i don’t want to - “ and she pitches forward, small shivering body wracked with heavy sobs not for the first time that night.

“it’s okay, bev, arms up, it’s okay,” he tells her softly.

(if richie minds having to help her get dressed, he doesn’t say anything and when she crawls into his bed he holds her tighter than ever.)

-

♡ v. the fifth ♡

beverly wants to say that she’s surprised when richie shows up to the barrens when they’re twelve with a split lip and a bruising cheek but still with a smile, but she and the rest of their friends know that would be a blatant lie. it’s not as if he talks much about his home life but beverly knows him better than anyone else. she can see him falter at bill’s concern and stan’s nervous questioning. he makes up a lie on the spot and beverly knows she isn’t the only one that sees right through him. so what she does is take his hand and settles in front of the little creek running through the woods with the rest of the newly-named losers surrounding them - and she asks as softly as she can.

“richie, are you okay?” she murmurs and she can see him stiffen.

she knows that he is not angry and she forces her nervous child-self down back into her stomach. she reaches up a hand and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. she can feel the way he melts back into her palm and with her other hand she rubs circles into his reddened knuckles.  


he takes a deep breath that shakes a little and lets it out, and then he presses his face into her neck. “my dad, he…”

she watches the looks of horror flicker over the faces of their friends and she nods, whispering that he doesn’t have to tell them if he doesn’t want to. no one says anything as eddie tucks himself into richie’s other side and takes his other hand. no one says anything when they see richie tozier cry.

but what they do is they close in with open arms and open hearts and beverly thinks this is the best thing she’s ever had.

-

♡ vi. the sixth ♡

she’s thirteen the first time she ever thinks about girls. she’s tried for long enough to pretend that her palms didn’t get clammy and her stomach didn’t knot up when a pretty girl got close. she’s tried to pretend that she didn’t see pink lips and green eyes and blonde hair and thought about what it would be like to hold a girl’s hand. she’s thirteen when she realizes that she doesn’t like boys.

it all comes out in a rush one afternoon when she and richie are on a smoke break and she keeps thinking about greta bowie with her stupid pretty smile. her stomach is turning and her mouth moves faster than her brain - not that it’s anything new, but this is different - and she blurts it out, voice strained and a little too loud, and she slaps her hands over her mouth the moment the words escape.  


for a moment she feels the tears burning in her eyes but a careful hand on her shoulder grabs her attention.

“i’m gay.”

she turns to richie, eyes wide and hands still over her mouth. he’s smiling in his usual crooked way, but there’s this undertone of understanding that calms her racing heart. “when did you, when did you figure that out?”

“when i was, like, ten maybe - i mean, eddie, right?” he says and folds his lip between his teeth but beverly is smiling, and she lets out this huffy little laugh as relieved tears streak down her cheeks.

for a moment richie looks somewhat stunned but her giggles chase a startled laugh out of him. he crushes the butt of his cigarette beneath his heel, scraping the dying embers against the concrete, and he presses his hands to his cheeks and says, “what? eds is cute, you know it!”

she squeezes his hand and she knows it’s okay.

-

♡ vii. the seventh ♡  


bill comes to her with wide eyes and red cheeks. he’s stuttering more than usual and she gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile as she settles a hand on his shoulder and tells him to slow down. he takes a deep trembling breath and squares his shoulders (he’d been slumped more than he usually was and that was the first indicator) before folding his lip between his teeth like he’s thinking, and she smiles patiently. he drums his fingers against his thigh and sways a little on his feet.

“i r-really like st-stuh-stan and i don’t k-know h-how to te-tell him.”

ah. she smiles because stan had come to her with the same worry not a week before. she’s happy that her boys are finally getting over themselves and a bubbly sort of happiness settles warmly in her chest.

“well, stan’s a hopeless romantic underneath that rough exterior, right? try something that’ll make him blush or smile or whatever; i don’t think you can really go wrong because it’s you, billy.”

he smiles fondly at the nickname and she smiles back, heart beating a little too quickly as she thinks of that kiss they shared and the reason she wanted to kiss bill in the first place.

it makes her wonder if she _wants_ the abuse.

-

♡ viii. the eighth ♡

to say that beverly is heartbroken when greta bowie decides that she isn’t cool enough to be her friend is an understatement, but what really hurts is that greta becomes an entirely new person towards her. the shy grins and waves they’d exchanged in the hallway turn into mean smirks and middle fingers when teachers weren’t looking, but worst of all were the cold looks and the mouthed ‘i hate you’s she got daily. beverly starts to dread english, because greta sits behind her and she likes to glare icy daggers at her back and pull her hair as hard as she can without getting caught.

two can play that game. if greta’s decided to be a bitch, then beverly can be a bitch right back, maybe even a better bitch than she could ever be, a megabitch. she has fire in her veins for a reason, idle and waiting for a cause, and this one seems as good as any.

beverly’s acts of aggression are quiet, lowkey. she carves the words “greta bowie is a bitch” right beneath the spot where someone had scribbled “beverly marsh is a slut,” undoubtedly either greta herself or sally or someone else in their little group.

but her heart hurts. even as the bitterness starts to take hold in her heart and the nervous butterflies she used to get turn into angry bees, she still finds herself wishing that greta would change. she still finds her heart aching for the girl she wants and will never be able to have.

-

♡ ix. the ninth ♡

when the losers are fourteen eddie and richie stumble through beverly’s bedroom window at roughly three in the afternoon - richie is bloody and dazed and eddie is panicked and wheezing. the book she had in her hands is tossed aside in seconds and richie falls into her arms just in time (no matter how many times she hears it she will never quite get used to the way eddie gasps for breath). his heart thrums against hers and she folds her lip between her teeth.

“it’s okay. it’s okay, eddie, it’s going to be alright, thank you for bringing him to me,” she babbles as she attempts to balance richie and dig around in her pocket for the spare inhaler she keeps for eddie.

by the time she looks back up though he’s got his in his mouth and he pumps two times, thumping his chest with his fist as if it would do anything. his breath evens out slowly but his eyes are big and brown and shining, all the panic he must be feeling showing in his eyes. the ever-present tremor in his hands is even worse as he runs them haphazardly through his hair, bottom lip trembling.

“what the fuck happened to you, tozier,” she whispers. but she knows.

she knows it in the way richie’s eyes glaze over as soon as she asks, knows it in the way he lets out this sharp and piercing bark of a laugh that doesn’t really hold any joy, knows it in the way he wraps his thin and bruised arms around himself. when richie turns his face into her neck exhaustedly, she brings a gentle hand up and plays with the thick unruly curls at the nape of his neck while her free hand rubs circles into his knuckles.  


neither she nor eddie say anything when eddie settles into his other side and takes his other hand.

-

♡ x. the tenth ♡

beverly marsh has her first real pregnancy scare when she’s fifteen years old. she paces in the bathroom with a pregnancy test discarded on the counter that she’s trying to force herself to use.

she’s praying to a god she doesn’t believe in at this point.

with her heart in her throat, a scream bubbling in her chest, she takes it and waits for the results, the knot in her stomach tightening worse than ever before.

when only one line shows up, beverly swears she feels all of the breath leave her lungs as though she’s been punched. the relieved tears streak down her cheeks in hot rivulets, and she sits down against the bathtub and pulls her knees up to her chin and she cries.

she’s not sure which part is worse.

she shouldn’t have to be taking a pregnancy test at age fifteen. she’s not even a legal adult and therefore still a child and how could she raise a child if she is one? but that’s not it. she thinks that the worst part is that she hasn’t slept with anyone before, at least consensually.

the idea of mothering her father’s child leaves beverly vomiting.

it’s late at night when she finally leaves that bathroom, her eyes red and puffy and her lips aching and bloody. there’s reddened little crescent marks in her palms from her nails, and her head hurts worse maybe more than it ever has.

it is not the first night that beverly marsh cries herself to sleep.

-

♡ xi. the eleventh ♡

she hadn’t seen it. she’s seen him bruised and bloody, but she hadn’t seen it. she just figured he was always cold - so was she, being as thin as she was - and that’s why he would...why else would he...she had tried for so long to convince herself - and she was wrong. she was wrong. she doesn’t know what to do. she’d seen his scars but _this._

“what’re you lookin’ at, marsh, do you like my pale freckled skin?” he snorts.

she bites her lip. her eyes flick from his face to his rarely-exposed arms. she doesn’t know what to say. she sighs heavily and leans against the brick wall they’re hiding behind. “where’d you get those, richie?”

he’s quiet for a long moment and she hears the rustling of his hoodie.

“it isn’t what it looks like,” he mumbles. he keeps his eyes trained on his feet and beverly can see his mouth form a tight line around his cigarette. he closes his eyes and takes such a long drag that she’s surprised he didn’t burst out coughing after. he flicks ash absentmindedly before finally turning those dark eyes to hers. “i know what it looks like but don’t - “

“rich, you don’t get scars like that randomly.”

she scoots closer to him and nudges him with her hip, offering what she hopes is a reassuring smile. she isn’t mad. worried, yes, but not mad.

“can we not talk about this now?” he breathes, and she figures, _why should i force it out of him?_

“okay,” she says, but she lays her head on his shoulder and threads her fingers through his.

-

♡ xii. the twelfth ♡

she doesn’t know what time it is when she stumbles through his window, sixteen and bleeding like she’s ten again. her eyes burn with tears and her stomach is rolling with nausea and there’s a migraine beginning behind her eyes (it’s in the dull pressure stage) but she tries her very best to be quiet because richie barely sleeps as it is and she knows that he’s a light sleeper.  


she nearly jumps a foot in the air when eddie’s head pops up from somewhere beneath the blankets with bleary eyes and parted lips. she blinks back. her heart hammers.

“beverly,” he says softly, and she wraps her arms tight around herself. (her breaths are too fast and her heart won’t calm down. she wants to scream but she doesn’t think that she could even if she tried.)

richie’s head also appears and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. he looks her up and down through half-lidded eyes and when he seems to understand what happened he bolts up and crawls over eddie as careful as he can (eddie lies still against the mattress) and he walks crookedly towards her with her arms open and a whispered “was it him again?” and she collapses.

when her knees hit his hardwood bedroom floor he goes down with her. she hears muted shuffling and within moments she’s being cradled between both eddie and richie.

eddie cleans up her scraped knees with the first-aid kit from his backpack and richie holds her hand for her to squeeze when it hurts, and when she’s breathing normally again and has stopped crying, she finds herself settled safely between the two and she manages to sleep a little easier that night despite it all.

-

♡ xiii. the thirteenth ♡  


they’re seventeen when richie passes out cold in class. one minute he’s resting his chin in his hand (his eyes are open) and the next his head is hitting the desk with a loud _thump._ beverly’s heart leaps into her throat.

every attempt to wake him that proves unsuccessful makes her heart beat a little faster, makes her stomach ache and cramp and little harder. she ends up wedging herself between his desk and practically the whole class, barking at them to get away and give them space.

when he finally, finally wakes up, which is really only a few minutes later but feels like hours, she cries quietly and takes him to the nurse’s office. his eyes are unfocused (like he sees her but he doesn’t). his speech is slow and slurred like he’s a little bit drunk, and it feels like her legs have gone numb (but she keeps on going because he can’t walk).

when she gets him into a cot and talks to the nurse, they end up taking him to the hospital because he’s apparently underweight and hadn’t slept in three whole days. 

she doesn’t stop crying for an hour, sat right there at his bedside. he holds her hand weakly and tries to tell her that it’s okay, that he’s okay even though he’s in a hospital bed with i.vs and shit.

she just wants to believe him.

-

♡ xiv. the fourteenth ♡

she meets a girl with dark brown hair and hazel eyes.

they meet when beverly’s out back for a smoke break and the girl stumbles upon her (she’s got a lighter in her hand and a smoke between her lips) and beverly is comforted by the fact that she’s there for the same reason she is. it would be awkward if she wasn’t.

her name is elizabeth and she lights up beverly’s world. she calls her eliza and eliza calls her bee. she falls a little bit in love, and eliza falls in love right back.

five months later is when beverly finally decides _fuck it_ and kisses her for real instead of thinking about it. she’s so afraid and there is swirling electric anxiety beneath her skin but eliza kisses back and it’s _perfect._

“bee,” she says another few months later while they’re cuddling in eliza’s bed, “i think i’m in love with you.” (beverly’s little heart just _soars._ )

she’s so excited that she doesn’t even say anything. she just kisses eliza as hard as she can. they only part when they have to breathe. (with wide eyes beverly realizes that she never said it back.)

“well, i think i’m in love with you too,” she says.

beverly anne marsh has been waiting for this moment her whole life.

beverly anne marsh discusses who would take whose name if they were to get married that night in elizabeth jones’ bedroom.

-

♡ xv. the fifteenth ♡

they’re eighteen when they make the choice, richie showing up outside her window in flannel pajama pants and a grey sweater. eddie’s next to him with sleep-mussed hair and half-lidded eyes and in a borrowed hoodie she knows belongs to richie, their fingers woven tightly together.

“we’re blowing this popsicle stand,” richie says with a crooked grin. beverly smiles back and nudges eliza awake, beverly gathering extra clothes and necessary items into a backpack, and jumping through her window. (eliza’s bag was packed the week before.)

they decided that night was the best time because there would be no one to stop them.

her heart aches as she thinks of her boys. when she and richie came to the conclusion that they were getting out, they’d told the other losers in the barrens on a chilly afternoon in early autumn with teary eyes and heavy hearts. there was not a dry eye.

but they understand why they need to get out (why they’re taking eddie and eliza, as if they would ever leave without them) and they promise each other that no one gets forgotten.

“i think we’re ready to go.”

“i can’t believe it’s happening,” eddie says softly. he gazes into the dark of the night somewhat wistfully. it doesn’t take a genius to know where he’s looking. 

richie just tugs him closer and kisses the top of his head - and he rests his chin there for a few moments, and the four of them say their goodbyes to derry.

they don’t really know where they’re going (anywhere but here) or when they’ll get there. they don’t know where they’re going to live (but as long as they have each other they think it’ll be alright).

“this is the best “fuck you” i could ask for,” beverly murmurs, grin wide. “he can’t keep me here anymore. i don’t belong to him.”

“you never did,” eliza says quietly, and when she presses her face into the crook of beverly’s neck she thinks it’ll be okay. everything is going to be okay.


End file.
